School Daze
by Kiki Lee
Summary: Rating for language, and perhaps some romance later. Remy and Marie, teen years. Probably inaccurate and totally un-comic based, besides basic Remy personality. ;-)
1. The Schoolyard

              - **Okay.** Well, I'm new to this, but here I go. Reading, reviewing, and constructive criticism most welcome. I'm using a translator, so let me know if I butcher any French! Working off of character base that doesn't go along with the comics at all, so bear with me. And am I getting those accents right?!

              - **Disclaimer**: Not my characters. I don't like lawsuits. Please don't present me with one. This isn't for profit. (Would you pay for it? I didn't think so. ^_^ )

              "Give it back." The girl was clearly angry, green eyes snapping with emotion that was even visible to the him, watching from some distance away. The dark lenses cast the whole scene in shadow, four boys ranged in loose semi-circle around a slender girl.

              "Aw look, the slut-spawn's angry. I'm soooo scared." The leader of the boys taunted, swinging a delicate silver necklace and charm away from the dark-haired girl. His comrades laughed.

              Miton High School students had officially been out of school a whole hour. These particular boys were always together, lounging around and making trouble. Eighteen year olds or no, maturity wise they might as well have been ten grades back- but no one argued with them. A gang was a gang, and survival is something children learn well. Stay out of Andrew Pearson's way. 

              Pearson and his friends certainly hadn't hesitated to jeer at Miton's newest student- a rough, tangle-haired kid that refused to take a pair of dark, dark sunglasses from his eyes. From Louisiana, and the accent to prove it, and everyone knows that Freckle-Face Pearson (that was what they called him behind his back) couldn't resist an accent.

              Remy LeBeau watched the dark haired girl's hands clench into fists from the shadows the school building cast some distance away. "Give it back, you slimy son of a-"

              "Oh, the bitch-slut's callin' names, now! What'll yer momma sa-" He didn't even get a chance to finish his sentence. The girl was moving. The boys, hardly expecting physical retaliation from the petite brunette, watched in shock as the girl delivered an admirable right hook to Freckle's chin, knocking him backward. "You keep yer mouth off my mother, you-" her language deteriorated from there.

              From his shadows, Remy chuckled. _Dat_ fille got spunk, for certain._ Freckle was so surprised he could only raise his arms in automatic defense as the girl pummeled him with her fists. The uproar was unnoticed- the back field of the school was hardly a popular hang out, and Miton was not a well-off or well-attended school. As far as he knew, Remy was the only witness to this oh-so-satisfying beating._

              But he'd known from the beginning how it was gonna end. Freckle's three friends were already pulling the girl off their leader, the biggest giving her a shove that sent her sprawling. 

              Pearson got unsteadily to his feet, throwing his friends' hands away. Remy sneered from his shadows. Lily-livered sonova-

              "Hit me, will you, slut." Pearson used the back of his hand on his mouth, and it came away bloody. The dark-haired girl had rolled up onto her knees, and was rising when the kick got her in the gut and sent her back down again. "Bitch." Male pride wounded, Freckle kicked her again, ending another effort to rise.

              "Get away from her." The unfeeling dark lenses reflected four startled male faces his way. Remy hadn't even recalled making the conscious decision to move, but suddenly he found himself a few yards away, casual stance on the field's winter starved grass.

              "Well, if it isn't no-eyes. Mardis Gras already, loser?" Freckle-Face sneered, turning briefly away from the girl on the ground. 

              "_Non_. If it was Mardis Gras, Freckles, dere's no way Ah'd be wastin' mah valuable time wit a moron like yahself," Behind the glasses and tangled red bangs, the kid raised an eyebrow. "One more time. Get away from her." 

              "Two days and you've already got a piece of this, Bayou boy?" Pearson jeered, the other three boys turning completely to face him as they laughed. Andrew reached down and took a handful of the thick black hair, yanking the girl's head back roughly. 

              A muffled sound of pain from the girl's lips set a fire deep in Remy's core, and if the boys had thought to look hard enough, a faint smudge of scarlet even leaked through the dark glasses. And then he was on the first boy, dropping him in a sucker punch to the chin and a knee in his gut. "So much of a coward you can't get no lady's attention any other way, Freckles?" asked Remy, as the first boy's varsity jacket acquired a grass stain.

              Spoke too soon. One of the others came up behind him, grabbing both arms and yanking back. Pearson got close enough to land a good punch on his face before Remy could find enough leeway to deliver a sharp kick to his groin and an elbow to the one having trouble keeping his arms.

              The Cajun wheeled, ready to deal with the last, when the boy's eyes widened, and he stumbled back from his advance. "Holy shit…"

              Remy was confused a whole half-a-moment until he realized- the punch had knocked off the glasses. The other boys, too, were stumbling painfully to their feet. "He's a fuckin' mutie," one muttered. A moment longer facing the tall, rag tag boy with fire eyes, and the boys turned, and ran.

              _At least dese devil's eyes be worth somethin', Remy thought, bitterly, turning back toward the girl._

              She coughed once, rising again to her knees, dark hair falling down over her face. "You all right, chere?"

              "My necklace," came the gasped response. Capable arms lifted her gently upward by the shoulders, sitting her back on her heels. " 'Ere, chere, don' be worryin', _c'est_ ici._" The hand was half-gloved, and it pressed cool metal into her own palm, and Remy watched as she let her fingers curl over it. A kick in the stomach was no joke, and she must have been hurting a bit. _

              Her next words were quiet after a pained groan. "Thank you." She looked up.


	2. Introductions

              __

              …only to meet a pair of smoldering embers. They scorched her deep, those embers, little coals of pink-edged red that you see in the barbeque after everyone had a hotdog or a burger. Black pupils of sincere midnight drove into her, and she could do nothing but stare.

              __

              Remy felt his heart sink deep in his chest as the girl looked up at him with honest green eyes. He watched those beautiful eyes widen just slightly, and silence lengthened as she stared. She was more than pretty, this girl, waves of dark auburn flowing evenly over her shoulders, bits of grass tangled into them. The scratch on one cheek made the fine-boned features even more innocent. _Fool Cajun, dis be de part where she runs away and calls ya _l'enfant du diable_… _

              And suddenly Remy felt he just couldn't stand one more scar on his heart, and he didn't want to hear another false thank you or honest curse- and not from her. Not from her. He released the girl's shoulders and leaned back on his heels. Casual and affecting humor, a wall around his heart no one could yet see through, he said, "It be foolish to attack dose bigger an' stronger than you, chere."

              He paused, but then grinned that roguish grin of his. "Not dat Remy be cryin' Freckle-Face gets what comin' to 'im." He rose and offered her a hand, hoping to at least touch her once before she retreated away…

              __

              She blinked a few times as the boy pulled away from her, and could only be confused at the pain she saw in the handsome scarlet eyes. Shaking herself as he spoke in strong Cajun accents, she replied automatically, in her own Mississippi fashion. Ruefully, "Ah got a temper on me, that's fah sure, sugah." One green eye glimmered up at him as, taking the hand without hesitation and pulling herself up, releasing it to dust off faded jeans.

              "Ah'm Marie." She presented a bare hand, as if it wasn't scraped as her elbows. Giving her head a toss and watching with dismay as grass sprinkled out of it. _Bet he thinks yore a nightmare of a tomboy, she told herself._

              __ 

              Remy was astonished, frankly. One was the fact she seemed so friendly with him- ("sugah" just made his insides tremble) and two was the fact she was introducing herself. Willingly. Like he didn't have eyes like some fourth grade volcano science project. He blinked bemusedly at her, but the roguish grin endured. The cut-fingered gloves were black, and he was careful not to rub her palm to hard as they exchanged a firm shake.

              "Remy LeBeau, _c'est__ un plaisur, ma fille." He prayed that her reaction was a blush of pleasure and not a coloring of disgust or anger. "Got yerself some nice trophies, chere," turning over her palm and inspecting the scrape on the heel of her hand._

              The coal-red eyes looked up and a suddenly gentle hand touched her cheek. "Put de football players t' shame, you do."

              __

              Marie liked to think she had enough self control to withstand an instant liking to the red-haired boy, but the unthinking drawl and slightly crooked smile were irresistible. Trying to control her blush, she looked unflinchingly up into his eyes. "Yah got a doozy yahself, sugah." 

              He stood not a foot away, her chin uplifted toward his face. Indeed, his cheekbone was getting a healthy purple in color. The fingers drew away to touch his own cheek, slight wince. "_Il n'est rien, chere_." At her look of confusion, he hurriedly translated. "Sorry. It's nothing." 

              Her lips formed an 'o' of understanding, and she nodded. Then, suddenly, she recalled. Jim's gonna be furious when Ah get home… oh, God. "Ah'm sorry, sugah, but Ah gotta go, mah mamma's gonna be worried. It was nice ta meetcha," she winked at him, taking the edge off the hurry in her voice. 

              Remy nodded, bringing up a hand to run it haphazardly through the chin length hair, only to have it fall back into place, even wilder than before. Good lord, was he gorgeous. "Oui, don't keep _votre__ mere waiting, chere."_

              Marie turned, getting ready to move into a jog- before she remembered, turning back. She smiled up at him. "Thanks fah helpin' me, sugah." And then she turned and jogged away, slipping through a cut in the chain-linked fence at the back of the field.

              __ 

              Remy LeBeau lifted his eyes and watched her go, one thought surfacing. Smooth jazz voice just a whisper. "Ah'd kill for another one of those smiles, petite."


	3. The Discussion

**Author's Notes**: Jeez, where am I going with this thing? No idea. Uhm, in case it needs clarification, Marie has not developed her powers yet. Remy's are, as you'll discover, still developing.

- Neurotic Temptress: Ooh, flattered you're reading, I love your work. Thanks! ^.^

- Ishandahalf: Okay, can't beat that name. To be this ish is one thing, but the ish and a half! Wow. Go you. Thanks for reading, I feel LOVED!

**Disclaimer**: These aren't my characters, and though I'd just love to shut them in a box and keep them for my own, I won't. Don't sue me. -.-;

__

              _Can't say life ain' interestin'.__ School life was definitely interesting. Remy wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad. Miton was a school set in a middle sized town, not particularly interesting and hardly a place folk went out of the way to visit. Naturally, that was why he chose it. But just like everywhere else, anti-mutant sentiments existed… and with Remy, hiding his nature wasn't something particularly easy._

              It took about half a day for Pearson and Friends (_sounds like a bad T.V show, Remy thought) to tell the whole school about him, but his reaction was like it always was: stoic. A few hurled insults here, which he ignored behind the shields of the dark lenses, and some tentative questions, which usually got a shrug. It didn't help he could feel the animosity, too- he figured that was his mutant ability. Picking up emotions… it was useful, but not exactly pleasant, either. Most of the questions were morbid curiosity, asked only to find out if he was dangerous- the fear was almost as bad as the anger, little doubts that bit at the soul and kept a four foot radius around him clear of people. He was used to it. He just had to finish the year here. _Keep tellin' yerself that, Remy. Just finish the year._ _

              He didn't forget about Marie. Oh no. He'd sooner forget how to pick pockets. In fact, he was keeping an eye out for her. He spotted her, too, eventually, as he'd known he would. She hadn't seen him, but he wasn't making an effort to be visible that day, and tried to project a feeling around himself he labeled as "don't notice me." It worked, after the initial uproar died down… though Devil Spawn stuck. He almost detested that name. 

              All that was far from his mind whenever he watched Marie flick that auburn hair of hers over a shoulder or move down a hallway. She made everything a little brighter with that white smile and easy laugh. Neither popular nor disdained, but generally well-thought of, Marie got along quite well. The day after they'd met, Remy had been astonished when he'd spotted her; a long sleeved shirt took care of the scrapes on her elbows. She was careful not to present her palms to anyone, and the scratch on her cheek had been hidden with makeup. And hidden well, too. No one even noticed. Something about that puzzled him.

              Remy kept to himself; easy in manner and light of speech. His grades were average, and his teachers got along with him well enough- projecting a mood like 'charming' or 'relaxed' wasn't all that hard. Frankly, no one knew a thing about him. And that was good. That was very good. Except Marie. Marie made a point of knowing him; she'd say hello or ask after him in this class or that. She felt different than the rest- she genuinely liked him. Remy would have to be a saint not to work that charm on a few girls here or there- and it always worked, too- but he didn't have to touch his powers when he spoke with Marie. 

              "Sugah, did you write the assignment down in math?" Marie leaned over her desk. After waiting a moment, she gave him a friendly poke on his shoulder. "Remy."

              Remy blinked, and looked over at her. "Hm? Sorry, chere, what did you say?"

              Marie grinned. "Whatcha thinking 'bout, mm? Mooning over Lina?" She flipped her hand over at a shapely blonde two rows over that was one of those who didn't mind a pair of dark glasses and a charming smile. 

             The roguish grin appeared like slow honey. "Non, cherie, jus' lil' preoccupied." It was more than preoccupation. He'd been busy trying to shield out the boy four rows over who just had a fight with someone important in his life… boiling with anger and doubt… _concentrate, Remy! _

              Meanwhile, Marie raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh. You got the math assignment, sugah?"

              Remy shook his head, loose red strands waving a bit. "Sorry." The bell rang, and there was a collective stirring of movement as the class closed notebooks, zipped backpacks and headed for the door. He'd fallen into his own thoughts again, and came up out of them only when he felt a hand over his wrist, pulling sharply. The dark glasses came up and reflected Marie's greens- and behind her, the jealous glare of Lina. He blinked, taken aback at the look on Marie's face. She interrupted his automatic inquiry. Pull. "C'mon, Cajun, yer gonna tell me what's wrong." It wasn't a question.

              "Jeez, chere, Remy's comin' already!" She released his wrist, and they sat at a table in the open courtyard of the school. Lunchtime bustled around them, and Marie leveled that gaze of hers at him. 

              "What's goin' on, Remy?" He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, glancing everywhere but at her behind the glasses. No one seemed to be listening. 

              "_C'est__ rien, chere.You worry 'bout 'lil ole Remy too much." He tried one of the smiles. It didn't work. The gaze got harder. He sighed. "Ah'm just havin' some problems with my… abilities, is all." He watched her reaction to that._

              Only a blink. "Ah didn't know you had abilities." In faint surprise. "What are they?" She tilted her head and peered at him. That only made him nervous. _Hope dese glasses are nice 'n dark… _

              "Nothin' too bad. Jus'… sort of feel other people's feelin's sometimes." He didn't mention his ability to affect those feelings. 

              "Oh." Marie's shoulders relaxed a little bit and she looked thoughtful. Then a smile. "What's wrong with 'em?"

              "Nothin'. Dey jus' be… makin' me sensitive. Distracted. Remy din' mean ta worry you, chere." The too charming smile appeared in flirtatious fashion, as if her worrying was a good sign.

              Marie tossed her head. "Ah just get tired of asking all mah questions twice." She grinned at him, then grew serious again. "There anything Ah kin do?"

              "Non, mon chere, it's jus' a side effect. No problem." He would have winked, but she wouldn't have been able to see it. 

              "Okay." She did wink, using a hand to push hair behind her ear. Then she opened her mouth to say something else- but Remy never heard it. He stiffened suddenly and said, sharply, "Marie, go."

              "Wha-?"

              "Go, _now_, someone is coming. Someone angry." _Someone that wants Marie. Remy was getting up and moving in front of Marie reflexively as she only halfway rose in startled confusion- but what could he do to stop anger like that…?_


	4. The Confrontation

**Author's Notes: **Yay reviews! ::Passes out candy.::

- Rogue Worrior Spirit – Yep, Marie is Rogue. Well, not yet.

- Sly – My purpose is to torture.

**Disclaimer: ::Flips** through papers. Looks through books.:: Where did that disclaimer go? Don't worry, I'll find it… ::Pulls it out of old shoe. :: Ah ha. "These characters aren't mine, this is not for profit, please don't sue me."

__

              Students moved out of the way or looked over curiously as the first person to present themselves appeared out of the edge of the crowd. Remy looked at the Principal of Miton High School with apprehension for a brief moment. _That's not him._ No, the anger wasn't from Mr. Achosi; it was the man beside him. He was a big fellow, taller than Remy. His features reminded him of a rat, with mussed blonde hair, not particularly well built but with the weight to get away with it. Small town dress in jeans and not quite clean off-white shirt.

              And anger incarnate. Anger that radiated with Marie at its focus, though he didn't know why. As they approached, the man switched his attention to Remy, and found annoyance and suspicion. He didn't move, and the dark glasses were impassive- though the red eyes blazed intimidation behind them, unseen. The man stayed a step behind the principal… apparently calm. Even benevolent. Remy almost doubted his own senses- but there was no denying that feeling…

              Movement behind him, and he looked sharply to his left, startled as Marie came around him, looking at the man with surprise but not alarm- and worse, recognition. 

              "Marie," said Mr. Achosi, glancing at Remy almost nervously, "Your, ah, father has come to get you…" He trailed off and glanced up at the ratty man.

              Marie was already moving toward the two, shouldering her bag and just brushing past Remy. She was worried about something… not herself- he couldn't let her go with him. Stretching a hand out with surprising speed and pulling her arm back gently, "Marie-"   

              She turned and look back at him, green eyes giving him a look the equivalent to a sharp shake of her head. "Ahwl see you latah, sugah." _Stay here, said the eyes. And she kept going, his grip coming loose and his hand falling to the side. _

              The suspicion flared and some of the anger partitioned itself to him. From under a few wayward red strands, the dark glasses presented themselves coolly to the man. Remy forced himself to stay still, quivering with the need to grab Marie and take her far, far away, where it was safe.

              The man didn't touch Marie as she came up beside him, hands nonchalantly in his pockets. She looked up as they began to walk away, leaving him behind. "Is it mama?" The bell rang and students sank into a routine ant-like chaos around them all, cutting her off from his sight until they turned the corner.

              He stood there staring after, with confused thoughts, until the easing nervousness of Mr. Achosi, the anger and suspicion of … of Marie's father passed out of his senses.

              But the taste of Marie's controlled fear remained behind. 


	5. The Discovery

** Author's Notes: **Uhm. Hiya. I'm back. Only took a few months, there. Sorry. But, yeah, thanks for the reviews!

- Queondapio – You're just as important to me! I'm glad you like it! ^.^ Don't go away!

- Neurotic Temptress – Wow you're all interested… I hope I don't let you down. J

- Ishandahalf – Must… withstand… peer pressure… ::Buckles::

- Heartstar – I'm trying! I'm trying! ^_^

**Disclaimer: **It tried to escape from me, and it got a little damaged. ::Dusts off disclaimer.:: "Tehse carahcthers dun't bleong ta me, dno't sue me!"

__

            Marie wasn't at school the next day. Remy stood in the doorway of his first period class, ruby eyes behind the impassive dark shades taking a good, slow look around. He ran a nervous hand through his hair before dropping it and shoving it into a jean pocket. The muddy red strands fell haphazardly back into place. 

            She wasn't here. Something clutched at him, spreading from his heart into cold icy tendrils through his skin. What could have happened to her? _Too many tings, thought Remy. _Far too many tings.___ The possibility she was simply ill or ditching school was briefly considered and then dismissed just as quickly. Marie just wasn't the type to ditch school without a lot of persuasion, and that combined with yesterday's events made Remy certain something had happened to her. It was a cold certainty, and gave him no comfort._

            He sat in the back of the classroom, absent-mindedly projecting an aura of interest and casual attention while ignoring the droning of, "…the hypotenuse of the triangle becomes 158, but only if…" and thinking. There was no question of waiting around to see if she came back, hoping his worries would vanish like cigarette smoke. If nothing else, Remy felt he was a man of action. No, the more important question was where to look for her. He had absolutely no idea where she lived, and it was extremely unlikely the school office handed information like that out.

            "More dan one way to skin a cat," muttered Remy, folding his arms and waiting darkly for the period to end. 

__

            "…an' she asked me to bring her de make-up work, but I don' know where she lives," lied Remy, bland as could be and patient as a cat at a mousehole. Hands were folded behind his back, weight rocking onto his heels, and powers projecting earnest trustworthiness with everything he had. 

            Mr. Achosi was buying it. It had certainly taken some effort; he'd had doubts earlier, thick in the air and almost tangible to Remy. But now Achosi was nodding and reaching for his computer mouse, convinced the devil child meant no particular harm. It took a lot out of him, to overcome that immediate suspicion of him… _damn dese devil eyes_…

            But there was no time to curse what he was – again. Achosi was rattling off an address. Remy memorized it with negligible effort. He left the school office, sun shining off the edges of the dark lenses. Stride long and expression stubborn edged with controlled, biting worry, the devil child set out to seek his rogue.

__

            Remy leaned against a telephone pole, occasionally taking a bite of a half-wrapped Snickers bar. He didn't even taste it; people noticed a careful stare less if the person doing the staring seemed to be staring idly while he ate, smoked, or otherwise occupied his hands. Smoking he had used before, but here it might attract more attention than he liked. Hence the caramel, chocolate and nuts. He tended to like spice more than sugar, so he took his time on the candy. 

            The dark glasses held steady as his gaze flickered up and down the innocent neighborhood. The house across the street wasn't much to look at: two stories, four windows, door with a nice brass knocker. He'd been watching it for a good two hours now, from one position or another. Marie hadn't made an appearance; he'd seen shadows and curtains ruffle as if someone passed, so he knew the house was occupied. He wasn't close enough to sense anything inside the house; a fortunate thing, or the whole street would be pouring their emotions into his head. Hard to concentrate with that sort of thing going on. Five or six people with strong emotions, he could probably handle. Fifteen? Floor him flat. No, his powers were of no help here. All he could do was wait. 

"_Merde," muttered Remy, unable to keep his patience. Man of action and all. "Remy be waitin' here 'til his clothes go out of style, an' dey-" he stopped. The pale green door opened, admitting the rat-faced man, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. __Marie's father. The identification made Remy's blood chill again, and he immediately took off the dark glasses in a slow easy movement, chomping another bite of the candy. Without the glasses and his eyes another direction, it was a better chance he wouldn't notice Remy lurking about. It was a good bet; the man drew his hand across his nose, from wrist to the edge of his thumb, sniffing and wiping the hand on the t-shirt before hopping into his truck. By then Remy had vanished, taking refuge in a café he hadn't yet entered, watching from a booth seat as the truck drove away. The dark glasses swept back on, a sneer finding its way onto his lips unbidden. An approaching waitress alerted him with her suddenly sharpened curiousity, and he had time to modify his expression as she approached. She eyed the dark glasses and then the young man as a whole appreciatively, snapping her bubble gum. "Watcha want?" Too friendly grin._

Remy allowed a carefully constructed sly smile to touch his lips. "From you, _cherie_?" The smile blossomed into a charming grin. "Lemonade to go… extra sugar." The waitress smacked her gum again, giggled in too high of a note, and took herself off behind the bar. Remy let the smile die and the mask fade. He turned sharply to look back out the window at the house. He didn't know how much time he had to get in there and get out again.  But he was willing to bet it wasn't long. 

__

            He stood on the porch and looked up at the door, eyes sliding up wood paneling in peeling white paint as the door loomed up in front of him. He didn't have time to dawdle, and forced himself to stop second guessing and knock. The sound echoed in his head, and seemed too loud. He stood, on edge, listening. There wasn't a sound from inside; no one even approached the door. He tried again, almost wincing again at the sound. _Think, Remy. Exhale. Rapidment. _A glance up the street as he slid a lock pick from one of their hiding places into his palm. Remy had a past he tried not to think about often, because it simply scared him silly. But he was good at what he had been, and only a fool threw away skills and learning, even if they were rather unsavory- and Remy was no fool. The pick slid in as if it belonged there. By feel, Remy expertly maneuvered the pick to trip three different mechanisms and twisted. _Click, said the lock, disapprovingly. The Cajun put a gloved palm against the door, feeling paint flake off under his fingers, and pushed gently._

            The first thing that hit him was the sheer mess of the place. The furniture was in good condition (trust a thief to know), but it was arranged haphazardly, as if to keep it out of the way. Every window had curtains drawn across it, shadowing the house in a dim, distrustful light. Discarded clothing was draped here and there, a stack of plates that would need a good scrubbing was on one table on top of yellowing newspapers. The second thing was the smell. Not of rotting things or of dust, but of alcohol. A lot of it. It made his eyes water at first, and he shook his head to clear it. A memory flashed behind the onyx and red, making him flinch, but he forced himself calm. Cautious as ever, but eager to get out of the view of the street, Remy moved in and shut the door behind him, very gently. 

            He took a moment to consult his powers- and felt nothing. If there was anyone in the house they were unconscious or dea- no. "_No," Remy said, to himself fiercely, in harsh whisper. Remy moved up the hallway, black lace up boots sliding carefully along, pausing so Remy could peer around the first corner. Kitchen. A mess, like everywhere else. No one there. He didn't see any open bottles of alcohol, though. Curious. The next doorway proved to lead to the living room, where an average sized television held forth from a corner. A couch was shoved up against one wall, half covered by a pile of blankets. Not pausing for more than a moment now, fighting off the choking cold feeling that kept getting in the way of proceeding, Remy moved up the staircase just ahead. _

            Like most two-story houses, the bedrooms were up here. The main bedroom was at the end of the hall. A woman lay on the unmade bed, sprawled uncaringly over the skewed covers. At first Remy was certain it was Marie and he hastened into the room two steps before discovering his mistake. This woman was years older, careworn lines creasing the edges of her eyes. She wore an old college sweatshirt and jeans. She had Marie's fine auburn hair, her defined cheekbones and her wiry but filled figure. You could see the family resemblance. The scent of alcohol was stronger here, hitting him in literal waves, one or two discarded bottles that glistened, empty. He had to fight off his own demons again before he could think rationally. The woman was drunk, passed out, actually. Remy was close enough to recognize the signs. She had a bruise purpling on one cheek, though, and fingermarks lined in the yellowish blue of an old bruise encircling her forearm. And that was just what he could see. Remy felt the heat gather behind his eyes, and he didn't need a mirror to know they flared with a hellfire of their own. "Merde." Remy said, taking a quick look around the room – no Marie – and striding out. She wasn't here, where was she? What happened if that… slimy son of a bitch hurt her and hid her somewhere? Down thee stairs and through the hall toward the front door… he had to call the police, make it sound like a domestic complaint, and then he-

            Remy came to a sudden stop in front of the living room doorway, peering in, red eyes edged with bleak black shining in the dim light. The blankets on the couch just moved, and there was a flicker of unrest that Remy had come to recognize as someone dreaming. He had no knowledge of actually entering the room, but instead found himself leaning over Marie, the dark brown of her hair flowing over one shoulder, lashes brushing her cheeks. One full lip was cut and a light bruise ran the edges of her cheekbone, harder in some places to a deeper blue. _Backhanded her, Remy thought, fighting down rage, this time, enough to rival a fearful child's memories. She looked so still and quiet that if he hadn't felt the steady flicker his powers detected, he would have sworn she was no longer living. But she was, and he bent down, reaching to cradle her uninjured cheek in his fingers, whispering her name._

            The response was immediate. The flicker flared into _alarm! surprise! that battered suddenly at him as those incredible eyes opened twice. Her eyes focused, and she made the transition to completely awake faster than he expected. "Remy!" He quickly withdrew his hand and she struggled upward. She had a short-sleeved lavender shirt on and he could tell, even in the dim light, where someone had taken both her arms and shaken hard enough to leave marks. Marie followed his gaze and could only stare a moment with her jaw loose before he saw that southern spark in her eyes. _

            "What are you doin' heah!" the accent was thicker when she was moved by something, Remy thought, somewhere in the back of his mind. Remy stood but refused to be defensive, speaking sharply. Nothing short of an earthquake was going to wake the woman upstairs.

"I come to see if you were okay, Marie! That bastard came yesterday and den you weren't at school, what was I suppose' to tink, huh?" The fire-eyes challenged her, bright with anger. "What is goin' on here, _cherie_? Why you still here with that _pere_ of yours? No one treats women like dat- I saw your mother upstairs! _C'est__ malade!"_

Marie's mouth opened and closed like a fishes, emotions fleeting behind the deep greens. She struggled upright out of the blankets. "How dare you come in heah! You- What Ah do is _mah__ business, how dare you come in mah house?! How did you get here, you fool of a Cajun! Ah should-" Marie gasped, hands flying up over her mouth as if she just realized Armageddon was at her heels. "You have to get out! Jim is-"_

"De sick son of a bitch left a half an hour ago," Remy snapped, eyes flaring up again. Marie stepped back a pace, looking up at him in startlement. But she didn't have time to argue. 

"Go befoah he comes home!" Marie was panicked, and somehow it sunk in past Remy's consuming anger at the rat-faced man. She was ushering him toward the hallway.

"Remy not leavin' you here, Marie." Remy dug his heels into the carpet and easily stopped their progress, turning over to literally put his arms around her in a firm, frighteningly truthful embrace. "I thought sumptin awful happened to you," he said into her hair, softly. Marie stood with her forehead on his chest, reveling in the feeling of _caring. Someone was worried for her. But then her concern came back to her in a sharp needle-like lance. She forced herself to struggle out of his embrace, forcing the part of her that ached for it away. _

"Ah can't go, Ah have to-" And then she stopped in horror, breath freezing in her chest, at the sound of a truck in the driveway. "He's heah!" She looked around and grabbed his wrist, ready to pull him toward a closet, "Hide!" She whispered, harshly, pulling. 

But there was a resistance, and Remy didn't move. Marie looked up and was both awed and frightened to see the red eyes aglow hellishly in the dim light. "_Bien_. Let him come." Marie didn't know what the Cajun had in mind, and she didn't think she wanted to know. She kept forgetting he was a mutant, and maybe he had powers he never told her about. 

"No, you can't, he'll-"

He still didn't look at her but rather at the door with a boiling, bloodthirsty eagerness sheathed in calm. "You tink I can't take him, _chere?" he inquired, in a voice that chilled her._

"No, that's not it! Remy, please." The choked pleading in her voice made him look down at her, eyes subsiding into smoldering embers. She pulled him toward the closet again as the truck door slammed outside. "Please, for me." Remy hesitated, the desire to _hurt_ that disgusting bastard almost overwhelming. But he could never ignore those green eyes, and reluctantly allowed himself to be pushed gently into a musty smelling closet that rustled with snow coats and heavy jackets. "Stay here! Please!" The angel eyes met his one last time, the auburn hair haloing pale complexion. Then she shut the closet door as the front one opened.


	6. The Fire

**Author's Notes: **Back again. I swear I have the attention span of a moth. 

-Alyxandria, Zeelee, ladychopsticks, and Solitaire – Thanks so much for reading! I feel special, oh so special….

**Disclaimer: **Remy and further X-men characters and concepts are not my copyright.

__

            Remy heard the front door open with a resounding BANG that shook the house down to its roots. The snow coats swayed and rustled. Almost afire with rage, Remy held himself in place by sheer will, aided by the last remnants of Marie's green eyes, wide and pleading.

            Jim was angry. Obviously. It felt to Remy like the thudding of red waves of anger against him- and it did nothing to help his own desire to readily murder Marie's father. Or- no, she'd called him Jim. Perhaps he wasn't her father. No matter. 

            "Where is she?" growled a rough-hewn voice. 

            Marie. "Upstairs."

            "Lazy bitch. Go get her up, she's got dinner to get on the table, I'm hungry." There was a pause. "NOW!"

            Trapped in the closet, Remy felt the sudden flare of Marie's fear, familiar now. Then he heard the sound of footsteps beating quick tattoo over the stairs.

            The man muttered through the door, audible to the listening Remy. "Lazy little bitch, just like her ma'm…" He stamped into the tiled kitchen. It took Remy an endless amount of time to calm himself to the point where the tight closet didn't feel like a roasting oven. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but after listening intently through the press of nylon coats, he realized Marie had somehow managed to rouse her mother upstairs and all three were in the kitchen. 

            It was at this point Remy hesitated. Perhaps now would be the time to make for the front door. Marie meant for him to do that. _No!,_ something in him shouted. _Leave Marie with that whoreson alone? Never! _He would not let her face him alone again.Besides, he would hear the door shut, however quietly he might sneak, and the bastard would take it out on one or the other of the women. That's what he would tell Marie, later. However he might trust his thieving instincts, Remy could not risk such an action. Closing all options of cowardly retreat, he bent his ear to the wall between closet and kitchen.

            It didn't take a genius to realize that Marie's mother was in no condition to cook. Remy could smell the pungent scent of burning through the smothering coats even as he heard the squeal of a chair across tile and the sharp collision of hand against skin. The corresponding thud told him the victim had fallen, and Marie's sudden protest of "No!" in shock and surprise said the victim was her mother. 

            "How dare you, you little whelp- get out of the way." Thud. The sound of another chair falling and Remy heard the small painful sound of Marie hitting the wall. 

            He was fighting his way out of the closet, now, hands fumbling for a way out- but there was no doorknob inside the closet- only outside- and smooth wood grain met his hands. Blind and raging, Remy fought a losing battle with the snowcoats and rain boots. 

            There was no further sound from Marie- he must have hit her hard enough to knock her out. The sound of muffled screams and pleads from Marie's mother now, strongly echoing the young cries of a small boy somewhere in Remy's memories buried in the darkness. Glass shattered, something fell; there was a snap and the merciless echoes of repeated blows penetrated Remy's consciousness. The bastard's stream of profanities hushed into the recesses of shadowy memory and a child's old pain. He was four, small, helpless, and his father's shadow was billowing above him, threatening, menacing, the memories suffocating. 

He pushed those shadows sharply away, and his younger self's cries of "Please Daddy, no!" melting into Marie's- 

            "Mama! NO!" 

            Remy's rage turned into an inferno of scarlet and sparks. He felt one of the coats burst into threatening flame, real and intense against his skin. The closet door slammed into the opposite wall and Remy poured out. He was revenge personified, molten metal and cold unfeeling heat.

            Only sudden unreasoning fear made him hesitate in the doorway to the kitchen. Fear for the girl who stood not five feet away, small white hands gripping a struggling man's throat at least three times her size. His own rage was dwarfed in her righteous unthinking anger. There was a crumpled body in one corner, sprawled underneath a counter, auburn hair thick in rusty blood.

            Mouth open, Remy suddenly gasped air, coming to himself, the Remy behind dark lenses and the Remy with human fears and logic. He stared at Marie, who looked down at her mother's husband as she knelt on his chest on the kitchen floor, white hands unforgiving against his thick throat. He struggled weakly against her.

            The man should have been able to throw her across the room- he had only minutes before. Why didn't he now? Lost in confusion, Remy ran for Marie, calling her name. She didn't hear him. Her eyes and world were only on the man beneath her hands, and as Remy looked down at his face, he came to a realization.

            The man was dying. Crawling icy blue veins crept up from Marie's fingers beneath his skin. His wild eyes leapt fearfully about, his arms no longer flailing, lying limply against the linoleum. Jim's thick ratty face was not the bloodish red of a choking man- it was an icy white of a corpse. Marie's fingers gripped harder. Finally there was only silence and the last twitching of dirty thick fingers.

            Remy reached her. "Marie, no! Come away!" He pulled her sharply by the shoulders, and white hands let go, leaving not a mark behind. The green eyes were again innocent and frightened, looking suddenly up and focusing at him. 

            "Remy?"

            He pulled her sharply into an embrace, his cheek against hers. "Marie, it's okay, _cherie__, je suis ici_, Remy is here…" His voice trailed off into silence. Marie trembled like a lost leaf in his arms. 

            And then he felt something odd… something that penetrated his soul's compassion and the unknowing love he felt for the girl in his arms. An icy, cold, draining something. He could not understand what it was, even as it seemed to steal his breath from his chest and the strength from his muscles- and then the memory of Jim, dead on the white floor, dead from only the touch of petite Marie's fingers. Remy gave a strangled gasp, and gravity began to pull heavy on his shoulders. He fought to stay up, stay warm, stay with Marie, but he could not. He felt himself fall. He saw Marie, green eyes wet with tears, lips parted, staring at him as gray fog separated them. 

            "Remy!" he heard. And then nothing.


	7. The Card

**Author's Notes**: Thank you to the most recent of four reviewers for getting me interested in this story once more: Mysterious Fan Girl, Rat, Iseult of the Snows, and Star-of-Chaos. And my loyals- I love you! ::Hugs all around.::

**Disclaimer**: ::Coughs, wipes eyes.:: Yes, uhm… ::Sniffle.:: Characters… ::Blows nose:: not mine. ::Breaks down into sobs.::

___

            Remy felt himself come back to consciousness, slowly. It had happened before, and he knew what to expect, and still found himself lost in that translucent nowhere between dark and light. He wondered briefly what woke him, and found his cheeks were wet. Something was dripping onto his cheeks. Drops of something.

            Then his hearing came back, and distantly he heard the sound of a woman, sobbing. At first he thought it was his mother, and he automatically struggled back up toward alertness, eager to help her repair the damage his father had done. But as things became clearer, the voice became different; softer… the sobs were harder and forlorn, their creator lost in sorrow she could not escape from.

            Marie! His eyes came alive, and vision focused. Marie was there, her petite face above his, emeralds wide and glistening with the tears that had fallen onto his eyelids. He must have said something, her name perhaps, for the eyes widened with undiminished relief.

            "Ah! Remy, y-yer alive! I-I thought Ah kil- kille…"

            Shaking off a feeling of bone-deep weariness, Remy sat up, hands reaching to enfold her. She threw herself away, in the opposite direction across the kitchen tile, recoiling like a rabbit from a snake. 

            "No! Don't… don't touch me! Ah… Ahm dangerous…" Her eyes strayed to Jim's body, white and staring in death. 

            Remy let his hands drop, and stared at her with lips barely parted. To see her so afraid, so alone, and be unable to comfort her- it felt as though something inside him was tearing. Ripping hard, long and deep. The moment stretched and expanded until it took in the whole of his being, and he struggled with the dark feeling for what seemed forever. Eventually he discovered that it was not completely his own turmoil, but much of it came from Marie, still sobbing over her mother's fallen form.

            As he realized this, he was able to partition himself from the emotions, put mental walls between him and it, so he could function. To distract himself, Remy stared around the kitchen. The place was a mess. Dishes and broken knick knacks were everywhere. A kitchen knife was on the counter, half a roast on the floor by the refrigerator- and of course, Marie's parents sprawled haphazardly on the tile. 

            "We… we gotta get outta here, _cherie_. Now. We… we have to make it look like an accident…" But Marie wasn't listening. She wasn't in a condition to do much of anything, in fact. And, realizing it would be up to him, Remy forced a complete division from what he felt and called up his other self: the other Remy who had forced his way out of the closet, the one that could burn and explode things with a touch. 

            It took but a moment, but the effect was complete. Devoid of feeling but filled with a sense of purpose, Remy walked over and turned the gas stove on full, leaving the door open. Then he went back to the closet, stepping over the still smoldering door and seeking out a long-sleeved coat for Marie. It was either hers or her mother's, judging from the size. Returning to the kitchen, he put the coat on the table.

            Without allowing himself a thought about it, Remy dragged Jim's body into the living room and hoisted it onto the sofa, in a relaxed position. His inner self repressed a shudder, but the purposeful Remy in charge showed not a qualm with this act. It was necessary, and was therefore preformed. 

            It took Remy some time to get Marie standing and away from the prone form of her mother. It helped that she would not let him near her until she got on the coat and a pair of gloves that were in one pocket. He told her to wait in the hallway, twice, holding the green eyes with his. "Remy'll take care of it, _cherie_. Go wait. I be right dere."

            "But Remy, mah mother, she-"

            "Now, Marie. _S'il vous plait_. For Remy."

            Marie went. 

            Marie's mother Remy gently placed on a kitchen chair, her head down over her elbows, as if she was asleep. She looked so much like Marie it churned his stomach to see all the blood in her auburn hair, but the other Remy got firmer hold of his powers, and the feeling died. She was indeed dead, a fact confirmed by the lolling of her neck. They would have trouble if the coroner saw this, but with Remy had planned, the state of her body now wouldn't matter. 

            The gas stove was still hissing, but the place was full of the sour smell of invisible danger. Remy returned to the hall and put his arms around Marie, guiding her out the back door. He checked around to see if any of the neighbors were peering out their windows. The lawn was clear. Out behind the line of houses was a field, common in Miton, bordered at the very edge by a copse and a few willow trees. He led her here. She was shivering despite the coat, and seemed lost and afraid. The green eyes were unfocused, and she went where he led with a trust that would have frightened him if he was himself. 

            But he was not, and he left her back in the copse, returning to the house. At the kitchen window, he made sure the gas had filtered through much of the house. He had closed the oven door before they'd left, so it would seem normal. Then he stepped back a few feet, feeling around in his pockets for a match, or something that would carry his power into the house.

            All he came up with was a deck of worn plastic playing cards. In his hand they felt warm, comforting, and familiar, and his clever fingers sought one out and he squinted to read it in the dim starlight. The Jack of Hearts. Fitting. 

            Crouching behind Marie's backyard bushes, Remy stared heavily at the flat prince with his haughty profile and two swords. The card flickered, lighting the Cajun's features with a devilish violet glow. It flickered once more, and then lit fiery reddish purple. He flung it through the open kitchen window, and ran for his life. Concentrating on delaying the card's potential as long as possible, darting through the shadows around bushes to avoid being seen- and finally he could hold it no longer, and halfway in the field he felt the concussion of Marie's house exploding from the kitchen outward.

            He flung himself down into the sweet hay and weeds, daring a look back. A dragon of smoke and sparks uncoiled out of Marie's kitchen, belching fire and shards of broken wood. After its initial roar of triumphant destruction, it recoiled, and the house began to burn, fast and raging.

            Remy looked up, not more than a few yards from the copse where he had hidden Marie. She was standing there, hands at her sides, full lips pressed hard and white against each other, the flames of her dying life flickering in her green eyes.


End file.
